


To Fix What Is Broken.

by twistedmiracle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Complete, M/M, Polyamory, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-30
Updated: 2012-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-30 09:31:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/330275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedmiracle/pseuds/twistedmiracle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(I did NOT like the epilogue. So I "fixed" it.) What do we really know about Harry and Ginny's marriage? And Draco's? Are things truly as they appear? harry/draco h/d hp/dm harry/ginny. mpreg offscreen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Fix What Is Broken.

**Author's Note:**

> to pushdragon and her tools.
> 
> They aren't mine, they belong to the clever Scottish lady. I just bend them and love them. Please don't smack me for playing. It isn't like I am going to earn any money from this!
> 
> This is book seven compliant fanfic. Yes, the-entire-book-compliant. 
> 
> The "crapilogue" (as so many of my Potter friends are calling it) pissed me off. That book had some of the most incredible yet unfulfilled slashy h/d moments, and then! The sudden ending! The crapilogue! (I did, however, like the last three words enough to steal them.)
> 
> Thus...  
> To fix what is broken.  
> By twisted miracle  
> Beta: DrGaellon, Owens_mom, and pushdragon.  
> Rated R  
> Warnings: polyamory, mpreg, angst, fluff, grumpiness at JKR  
> Word count: around 6500

Draco caught Harry's eye at King's Cross that morning, but Harry had no emotion on his face, not for him. Draco went cold inside. He would not show the pain here. 

Not in public. 

Magdalena stood close. Her body warm, familiar, calming, in robes of Scorpius' favourite pale blue. Draco waved goodbye to his son as the train tore into the open sky. Magdalena was waving goodbye as well, but Draco liked to imagine Scorpius was looking straight into Draco's eyes alone. 

When he could no longer see the fever-red caboose, he Apparated without turning away from the empty track, refusing to look for Harry's head in the remaining crowd. Magdalena would follow.

*

Draco was in his study, staring out the window. He'd always liked this room, and had chosen it for his own shortly after the war had ended. Mother had encouraged him toward Lucius' study after the Aurors had carted Father off to Azkaban for the final time, but Draco had refused her manipulations. That room, all dark wood and imposing treasures, was closed up and ignored. Father had used it to intimidate, and the room did not suit the son.

This room was on the other side of the house, near the library. The huge windows on the northern wall looked over his grounds and towards Scotland, where Draco's current thoughts lay. The windows on the eastern wall caught and held the rising sun every morning. 

Draco had seen the pink and orange light of sunrise many times through those windows, beginning with his correspondence year when he had prepared for and completed his N.E.W.T.s. That task had turned him temporarily nocturnal, and Draco had arranged the room accordingly. 

Everything was organized toward the eastern windows and the sunrise: shiny, pale woods, white porcelain, a subtle touch of silver here and there, and a few discreet mirrors. Unlike Father's study, this room was nearly choked with books, but they were all obscured behind the gleaming glass doors of Draco's bookcases. 

Draco had rather enjoyed working through the night, stopping only when the sun rose. He would silently enjoy the entire sunrise seated at his desk, then retire across the hall to sleep until late evening. 

His schedule had given his mother fits, but the quiet had been most conducive to his marks. He'd earned nothing less than Exceeds Expectations on all nine examinations.

Draco had a habit of discomfiting the women in his life, as it happened. Just this night he'd completely ignored his poached filet of sole, plucked only a few slivered almonds from the slender bright green beans, and had drunk - perhaps - a bit too much of his German white. Magdalena had clearly disapproved, so he'd excused himself. 

Scorpius' handsome new snowy owl caught his eye as soon as it cleared the trees on the hill. 

Scorpius was in Slytherin. The boy was clearly relieved, but Draco had been sure it was Slytherin for his only child. When Scorpius was considerably younger, Draco had wondered briefly if Ravenclaw would suit more, but while the boy was very intelligent, Scorpius had not become bookish enough. He loved to read, but had never pushed himself beyond assigned schoolwork and juvenile literature. And while he was a fun-loving child, he was still very Malfoy. The Malfoys almost invariably found themselves in Slytherin.

The rest of the letter, as it turned out, was about Asp: Scorpius' new best friend. Asp was in Slytherin as well. 

Asp wasn't sure he liked Scorpius calling him Asp, actually, but Scorpius was sure he would get used to it because his friend's initials made for a totally brilliant nickname, especially compared to "Al." Plus now it sounded like Asp and Scorpius were a team.

At first, Asp hadn't been too sure about the whole Slytherin thing. His older brother and both parents were Gryffindors. Of course, Papa had warned Scorpius about anti-Slytherin prejudices, and Asp was obviously not the only new Slytherin who felt a little uncertain about their house. But Scorpius had reassured his new buddy about the value of Slytherin house even before they were sorted. They'd met on the train! Asp was so cool! Papa knew Asp's parents!

Scorpius sounded incredibly happy. 

Draco could picture them. Or was he simply recasting himself and Potter in their sons' lives? He tried to imagine only this generation, not his own, as he saw them discovering one another on the Express, cautiously choosing to be next to each other in the boats, in the sorting line, at the dinner table, in the dormitory. But when he imagined them snuggled up next to each other in twinned green and silver beds - talking for ages until, reluctantly, they succumbed to sleep - he called harshly for the house-elf to fetch a bottle of Scotch.

Of course, the boys had no idea why they held such affinity for one another. 

Draco sighed. He was nervous - even afraid, if he were honest - but it was suddenly past time to tell them. Things had been broken for far, far too long. He pulled out a sheet of his best parchment, poured another shot, and started to ink the words he'd been composing in his mind for twelve years.

**

The owl arrived as Harry was downstairs cleaning up the kitchen and Ginny was helping Lily with the schoolwork she'd brought home. Her day school started a week before Hogwarts. Harry'd always been pants at that part of parenting: maths and spelling and geography and such.

The kitchen, on the other hand, was Harry's domain. His own odd and very personal combination of technology and wizardry assisted him in cooking and cleaning for his family. He had learned to cook from Aunt Petunia, but cooking for Ginny and the children was a completely different experience. Somehow, it tied him to his past while simultaneously releasing him from it. Harry hummed absently while the dishes cleaned themselves and he put the leftovers away by hand.

Harry had insisted on completely redoing Grimmauld Place before he would marry Ginny and carry her - laughing, hair shining, feet swinging - over the threshold. It had taken him a full eighteen months, and he'd spent much of that on his kitchen. It was in the basement, so he had installed a magical ceiling similar to the one in Hogwarts' Great Hall. Harry's, however, never reflected dreary weather. 

The cabinets were all pale pine, with smooth silver handles. The dishes were white with a silver circle at the edge. The appliances -Muggle to start, but with magic added - were stainless steel. They'd begun their life as gleaming things, but after years with three children they were a bit scuffed. They were, however, no longer covered with artwork. Even Lily had outgrown that now.

Over the counter where he prepared the food was a magical window with a view of a dark, calm lake with a dense forest behind. James had been shocked, home from Hogwarts for his first winter holiday, to realize that it was the loch and Forbidden Forest he'd come to know at school. Harry had just laughed and hugged the boy to his chest, glad he was home for Christmas.

Harry began cleaning the stovetop. Somehow magic never did that to his satisfaction. He started to plan the week's menu as he scrubbed. Now that only three of them were home, he'd need to adjust and cook far less. He smiled as he resigned himself to lots of leftovers for a few days, while he worked out how much just he, Lily and Ginny would eat.

***

The owl entered the house through the room where Ginny and Lily were working, and though the letter was addressed to Harry the owl grudgingly allowed Ginny to take it - something she often did as a favor to Harry. She gave the owl a treat. It left without awaiting a reply. She uncurled the letter and read the signature first. Her eyes went wide. She glanced at Lily, who was, thankfully, well engaged.

When she'd skimmed the letter once, she walked quietly away from Lily. Avoiding the castle Albus had built with sticks, stones and surreptitious Sticking Charms, she headed toward the window the owl had flown through.

Leaning against the wall there she began to read it through again, much more slowly. She found herself pacing once or twice. Moving from the mantel covered with pictures of family, to the piano where James and Albus had both hated to practice their scales. Sitting once, then standing abruptly. At points, she stopped to stare at a photo blankly. For a moment, she sat at the keys and remembered the uncertain sounds of Albus playing a song. Once she'd finished again she walked to Lily, kissed her daughter's head and quietly excused herself to the kitchen. 

Harry was just putting away the knives, sliding them carefully into the rough-hewn wood of the enormous knife block that Andromeda had given them for their wedding. He heard his wife's footsteps, turned to the doorway and smiled. But when he saw her face he sat down at the kitchen table and gestured at her usual seat. She handed him the curled up parchment and sat heavily.

His eyes reflected her uncertain state of mind, but he read.

****

Dear Harry,

I have been withholding a secret - my secret, our secret, Scorpius' secret - for what  
has abruptly become far too long. I would have withheld it forever and not disturbed  
your quiet life, but the boys have become friends. The secret now threatens to break  
open, crack and spill into the streets and the papers and our private lives.

I will attempt to start at what can pass as the beginning.

A little over twelve years ago, I unexpectedly ran into you in the London international  
Floo station. There was a delay. Something was broken and you couldn't get to your  
broom-making conference. I'm sure you are curious how you could have forgotten.  
Please bear with me.

Scorpius and I each own one of your brooms, by the way.

But I apologize. I get ahead of myself. I have been brooding over these thoughts for  
twelve years. This letter won't be tidy. I must send my first draft. Otherwise, I fear, I  
would never send it at all, and you would not learn this story from me, but from the  
 _Daily Prophet_ or worse. I could not bear that.

So. I saw I might finally have the opportunity to thank you for twice saving my life  
during the battle at Hogwarts, and for telling my mother that I lived, and for, well,  
everything you did for me. So I invited you for a drink in the bar. 

Oh Harry, you were so uncomfortable at first. But you sat with me and we drank our  
lousy Firewhiskey. And you listened. It meant so much that you listened.

When the reporter stumbled in, you hid us behind so much spellwork that I think he  
must have wondered if it was really the two of us he'd seen, or just a hopeful imagin-  
ation running away with him.

Of course, then no one else could see or hear us, and I had imbibed more alcohol in  
an hour than I usually drink in a month. I confessed my great secret. When you and  
Granger and Weasley were captured and I was asked to identify you, I refused. I  
waffled. I evaded. 

It was quite deliberate.

Had you never wondered why? I forgave comfortably if you had not. You had plenty  
on your mind. So much to do. Then and for months to come.

I don't know that I can explain it properly anymore, after all the time I have spent  
thinking about it, remembering it all, obsessing over it. But, essentially, I fell in love  
with you during our sixth year and I have been in love with you ever since. I could  
not admit it when we were boys, or for quite some time afterwards, but it's a perfectly  
accurate description of what I remember. And my memories are accurate enough. I  
have been known to go over them with a Pensieve at my most maudlin.

I apologize. I don't want to make you hate me any more than you almost certainly  
will once you've finished reading this. 

It started as a little crush, something I should have gotten over, but it grew. You were  
the boy I wanted to best, befriend, be. I schemed to get you in trouble and prove that  
you were less than everyone saw.

And then, in the Forbidden Forest, I witnessed firsthand how you were better than me  
in every way that mattered to my eleven year old heart: braver, smarter. I was furious  
at my own failures but turned it on you. That was what you witnessed from me  
throughout our years at Hogwarts. If you would not feel about me as I longed for you  
to feel, I would punish you. Since you would surely love me if only you really knew  
me, saw the me inside of me, I would make sure that you never did. (Therefore never  
testing that theory and never proving it wrong.) The logic of a child: unassailable for  
its utter foolishness.

Then you saved my life. I dream about you pulling me from the Fiendfyre, more than  
anything. Well, of course, except for one other thing, which I confess probably enters  
my dreams more often, but I get ahead of myself.

You'd woven those spells so tightly that we had no idea when they finished fixing  
that Floo. Our glasses kept refilling themselves and we kept drinking and our bar tabs  
kept climbing higher and then I gathered my liquid courage and uttered what should  
have been the worst pickup line ever. 

Except it worked. 

You allowed me to side-along you into the Manor, and of course, I took that once-in-  
a-lifetime opportunity to bring you directly into my bedroom.

I am sure your wife will read this and I have no desire to hurt her any more than the  
facts, by themselves, will surely hurt. But I will tell you that we made love. I will tell  
you that it was the single best experience of my life, barring only Scorpius' birth. And  
I will tell you that we conceived Scorpius that night. He is your son as much as he is  
mine. That, of course, is the primary reason I write.

When you fell asleep, I Obliviated you as gently as I could, and Portkeyed you into  
your Szeged hotel room. If you vaguely remember taking the Floo to Budapest and  
drinking half the night away with an old Hogwarts buddy whose face and name  
escapes you, then my spell worked as well as I prayed it would. I could not bear to  
face you sober. I could not bear the guilt and horror I expected to see in your eyes. I  
hope you can forgive my cowardice.

That is why you have no memory of making love to me. Though removing those  
memories from your mind was one of the greatest sacrifices I have ever endured. You  
told me, murmurs into my flushed and desperate skin, that it wasn't really cheating.  
That you and I had held our difficult and prickly connection between us like a  
weapon, a curse, a bond, since we were eleven years old. I was there first.

I won't bother you with the magical details. I obviously did not become pregnant to trap  
you, or I would have mentioned it before. I had actually hoped not to ever let it slip. 

But Scorpius has owled. His very best new, wonderful, marvelous, perfect Slytherin  
friend is none other than his own half-brother Albus Severus Potter. That was some-  
thing that I'd almost expected for years, once I realized they would begin Hogwarts  
together. Scorpius does not know. I confess I have done my best simply to push this  
out of my mind until now, when I feel quite forced to confront what we did all those  
years ago.

I hired a pretty French witch to be his nanny; she and I went out and ostentatiously  
obtained a marriage license. That information was published widely and everyone  
conveniently assumed that I married her. I did not. 

Magdalena has become the best friend that an employee who holds my deepest secret  
could possibly be, and I am deeply grateful to her for sharing my and Scorpius' life  
the way she does, but there is room in my heart for only two: Scorpius and you.

This has weighed on my heart for years. As I said before, I have therefore composed  
this missive to you in my head so many times that, well, please forgive my wordiness.

Here are the facts, then. I do not wish to harm your marriage, but Scorpius should  
know who you are, primarily because I do not want any romances blossoming  
between Scorpius and his half-sister or either of his half-brothers. Now that Albus is a  
Slytherin and he and Scorpius have bonded so spectacularly, that possibility has gone  
from rather remote to perfectly likely.

I wish the boys to be able to develop this friendship as they choose. I want Scorpius  
to feel able to bring Albus to Malfoy Manor and for you to be willing, if Albus  
wishes to invite him, to host Scorpius in your home as well. 

I think you will be pleased with how Magdalena and I raised him. I am not objective,  
but he is a wonderful child, a credit to both of us. And when you meet him, or when  
Albus writes home about him, I think you will know, again, why I had to write this  
letter. Like James your oldest, Scorpius is a Parselmouth. He inherited your magic. 

I will confess quickly, before I seal this, that your magic in his presence has been a  
comfort to me since he was conceived.

Please owl me if you have questions or wish to arrange a meeting. We can both bring  
solicitors, if you wish. 

Half my love,  
Draco 

Harry dabbed tears from his eyes. He smoothed the parchment out on the table and looked at Ginny carefully. She smiled, but it looked off, and they both stayed silent for a long moment. Harry waited. The silence was hers to break. He stood to put water on for tea, and the chair scraped loud, irritating, along the floor as he moved up and away from the table.

He turned, looking over one shoulder to check on Lily, and saw Ginny nod toward the doorway and then her wand. She'd given them privacy. He turned back to the stovetop and released a silent breath in relief. He could wait until Ginny was ready to speak. He was relieved that she'd thought to spell their child's innocence. He hoped it meant she was feeling rational.

Harry was still waiting silently at the stovetop with his back to Ginny when she finally muttered, "That poor child. I can hardly believe…."

Her words trailed off into nothing. Harry listened with both ears, but didn't move.

"This certainly isn't anything I expected," Ginny continued, still so quiet she might have been talking to herself instead of Harry.

Harry rested his hands on the countertop and watched his kettle, made of tempered glass. Thanks to the magic, the water was about to boil.

Ginny sighed noisily. "Make the tea, Harry."

He turned and looked at her again, but she was pulling Draco's letter across the table, the smudges he'd left on the parchment starkly visible in the bright kitchen.

He gathered teacups, wryly avoiding her favourite, a gift from her mother. The tea he fetched with his wand. He chose the jasmine blend she regularly crossed London to purchase from a tiny Muggle shop. She liked to joke that it reminded her of the first time he took her out to dinner, as they'd eaten Chinese. It had a light, delicate taste. He liked it almost as much as she did.

When the tea was ready he brought it to the table and poured for her, added sugar and stirred it in. He took his without. She took a sip and smiled. The smile was small, but real.

"You aren't terribly angry, then?" He took her hand in his.

"I'm certainly angry for Scorpius. He could have been a part of your life all this time, if you had only told Draco the whole truth that night. I'm a little angry for Albus as well. It sounds like he and Scorpius already get along like a house on fire. They could have spent all this time being dear friends. But I'm not angry at you. The poly life was my idea, not yours. I know you didn't really understand what I wanted, or why, for several years after we married. And I know that, except for those few years you spent as George's lover, you almost never go to anyone else's bed, because you worry about publicity getting out and hurting the children." 

Ginny smiled again, the left side of her mouth a bit higher, and shifted further into her chair. She wrapped her hands around her teacup. "I also know that if you finally saw a chance with him, you wouldn't have been explaining the details of our relationship, you'd have been working on a way to get into his pants. It sounds like he was so nervous that afternoon he had no idea you felt the same way until he finally propositioned you."

She smirked at Harry and he blushed. Then she straightened her back and flattened her hands at the table's edge. Harry knew this meant she'd made up her mind and he waited patiently for her decision.

"Harry, I want you to head over there, right now. We'll figure out what to say to the kids later. They need to know that they have another brother and we have to prepare for potential press coverage. But tonight, I want you to talk to him in person. He sounds miserable. I'll be fine here at home with Lily. Will you go?"

Harry nodded and raked a hand through his adorably messy hair. He stood, then kissed her cheek as he moved toward the stairs.

Ginny sighed. Poor Malfoy had loved her husband from afar for all these years, missing uncountable opportunities to see him being so... _Harry_. 

She knew too well that most married couples didn't understand this kind of relationship. Her parents, Ron and Hermione - it made no sense to a lot of people, and most of them got rather astonishingly defensive and angry about it. But it worked. 

In particular, it worked for her. She'd known this was her way ever since she'd fallen head over heels for Dean, even though she had been in love with Harry since she was ten. And though Dean sometimes still got on her nerves, the two of them had been lovers again since she and Harry had gotten back from their eighteen months abroad. Harry had spent it apprenticing to three different broom makers and Ginny had spent it reveling first in marriage and freedom and adulthood, and then in the miracle of being pregnant with James.

Her relationships with Harry and Dean had survived her refusal to bear a child for Dean, three births and two miscarriages with Harry, and Dean's marriage to Luna. Sometimes, she even spent the night writhing and sweating between Dean and Luna. Ginny heard Harry bang into something upstairs and spared a moment to hope that Luna would be up for more nights together when her son started Hogwarts in a year.

But other than those three years with lonely, Fred-less George, before George found Dempster (who refused to share, even with Harry Potter), Harry had managed precious few encounters with other lovers and had not a single true sweetheart other than Ginny. This had the potential to be very, very good for him. No one was more private than Malfoy, Ginny decided. And if he'd pined for Harry all these years, he would surely work his arse off to make their romantic relationship succeed. 

Ginny had also decided that there was little point to having a lover in addition to a spouse if the two people were similar. Dean and Harry were quite different in ways she saw clearly. Too many people thought only "Muggle-raised Gryffindors" and left it there. But Dean was introspective where Harry was extroverted. Dean was a listener and a watcher where Harry was a talker and a doer. 

She and Malfoy, she mused, were different in complimentary ways as well: Malfoy a Slytherin, she a Gryffindor. She knew that she was impulsive and he, she thought, was obviously very good at holding back and doing little until forced, or he'd not have kept this terrible secret for all these years. Ginny was flamboyant. Malfoy (she remembered his coat all buttoned up that morning) hid himself away. She could only hope that Malfoy would understand and that he could work with what they offered.

*****

Harry Flooed and found himself in a gatehouse. A house-elf gave him entrance to the Manor.

Malfoy, no, _Draco_ , was waiting for him in a large room filled with lights. The elf announced him and vanished. Harry gazed at Draco's silent profile. He was pale and stood rigidly in austere navy blue robes behind a large desk. He pressed one hand against the window, in which Harry saw Draco's reflection. His hairline had receded a bit, emphasizing his chin. 

Looking his fill finally, Harry decided that the widow's peak suited the other man. Draco still did not move or speak, so Harry turned slowly on one foot and examined the room.

The walls were lined with glass-fronted bookcases. Reflected candlelight turned the glass opaque so that Harry could not read a single title. The ceiling was high and the furniture was very simple and nearly white, yet the room was welcoming. Perhaps it was the thick pale cream carpet that made Harry think of removing his shoes, or the steaming silver tea service next to a soft cream couch, or the large silver and white chess set in front of the desk. There were no wizarding portraits to comment on his silent presence or Draco's unvoiced discomfort. There was a landscape of Hogwarts, however. The castle was a small pinnacle at the top right, with the magnificent grounds arrayed below. 

Draco said nothing as Harry walked closer. His handsome robes flowed to the floor like a curtain. Harry was suddenly distracted by thoughts of whether Draco was as slender now as he'd been as a youth. He pulled his mind from Draco's form and returned it to the room. The chess set made him think of Ron, and he wondered what his best friend would say when he learned about Scorpius. He stepped to the side and saw a photo album open on Draco's desk. It appeared to be from Scorpius' infancy.

He didn't want to bother with preamble. They'd already wasted so much time. But he couldn't make himself state it boldly, crassly in this elegant space. He flipped a page in the photo album and stopped when he saw the baby in the arms of the woman he'd seen with Draco and Scorpius (their son!) at King's Cross that morning. The baby blew a bubble. The woman's eyes softened and she stroked his little cheek. Pain flashed though Harry's gut and he closed his eyes against eleven years without a son he'd never met.

"You kept him from me." Harry made his voice cold.

Draco nodded. Harry tried to catch the eyes in his reflection. He took one step closer to the window, but Draco stayed where he was.

"You'd have let me die not knowing."

Draco closed his eyes and bent his head to the window. "I was afraid." His voice was rough and quiet. 

Harry clenched his fists. "Turn away from that damn window and look me in the eye like a man!"

Draco pivoted slowly on his left foot, away from Harry at first, then the rest of the way around. He looked calm, except for his eyes. Harry's heart clenched at the fear and pain he read there. 

"What were you afraid of?" Harry asked, no compassion in his tone.

"More than anything, I feared you would take him from me."

Harry stepped back involuntarily. "You… what? Explain."

"Will you sit?" Draco gestured toward the sofa, the tea. Harry sighed and walked away from Draco and the window. Draco followed. Tea was awkwardly poured and altered and sipped before Draco finally began again, teacup held high between them. 

"I said I was in love with you, Harry, but no one knows better than I how little I truly knew you. Know you. All I knew was that I was a Malfoy, barely kept out of Azkaban, and you were…."

Harry made a broad hand gesture and Draco moved on.

"I had no idea whether you would sue for custody but I was certain, with good reason, that you would win if you sought it. Everyone knows how happily married you are, the _Prophet_ still eats it up on slow news days. I had no idea why you'd agreed to cheat on your wife, but I felt it unlikely you would want to acknowledge it, let alone ever do it again. And I was pregnant with your child from a dazzling night I did not want sullied with a court case and the fury of the whole of the wizarding world."

Draco moved his teacup closer to his mouth but did not take a sip. Instead, he raised his other hand to curl around it from the other side. Harry almost couldn't see the man's chin anymore. 

"I wanted to keep the baby, Harry. I wanted him more than anything, more than anyone. I wanted him more than logic or compassion or sense. I was afraid of anything that might have been able to take our son from me. I have allowed that fear to rule my life since I knew I was pregnant. Please, forgive me?"

Harry looked at the distressed man sitting across from him in a wingback chair, decorated with abstract swirls of cream on white. He looked into the other man's eyes and remembered his own parental terrors. Ginny in labor. James' first terrible illness. The time Albus fell from a prototype broom at two and shattered his left arm. When Lily ate potions ingredients and spent the night at St. Mungo's.

He decided it was time to give Draco the rest of the story. He put his teacup down on the table in front of the couch and looked Draco in the eyes. He still had such compelling eyes.

"I understand. And I believe that I will be able to forgive you. And," Harry took a deep breath and raked a hand through his hair. "I don't know how I didn't think to tell you that night, Draco. Ginny and I are happily married, very much so. But we also have an open marriage. That's the real reason I wasn't cheating on her."

Harry took a sip of his tea and tried to decide what he saw in Draco's face. Annoyed at the blank façade behind the protective teacup, he continued. "Do you remember Dean Thomas?"

Draco nodded, still too damn calm.

"He's been Ginny's lover since before James was born. And for about three years, starting when my youngest was in preschool, my brother-in-law George was my lover, as well."

Something odd struck Harry, and he narrowed his eyes at Draco. "And George and I never had to take any contraceptive precautions, either."

"It's complex," Draco murmured, still clutching his teacup.

Harry settled back into the squashy couch. "Of course, unless other beautiful blonds have been Obliviating me, you're the first person I ever explored polyamory with. It was all quite new to me back then. I hope you can forgive me for not telling you everything."

Draco's eyes shone. He finally lowered his teacup to chest level. "Well," he drawled, almost calm, "you were rather drunk by the time I managed to say anything."

Harry barked out a laugh and stood abruptly. His clothes felt scratchy and too small all of a sudden. "I've always been a lightweight when it comes to alcohol, I'm afraid." He paced toward the fire, eager to move and stretch.

"I always thought you were straight, too. Come to find out, you aren't just bent, you're a bottom." Harry smiled flirtatiously over his shoulder.

"What makes you think that?" Draco turned sideways in his chair, genuinely confused.

Harry wrinkled up his face and Draco tried to hide a smile. "Because… you're the one who got pregnant?"

"Oh, Harry," Draco's laugh sounded tentative. "There's a lot you don't know about male pregnancy."

"I'll learn," Harry decided. He straightened away from the fire. "Do you have anything about it in your library?"

Draco looked confused. "Well, yes… but that wasn't exactly what I was expecting to show you tonight."

Harry stepped up behind, put his hands on Draco's shoulders, and spoke quietly, voice warm and low. "So. There was something you were hoping to show me."

Draco's heart sped up a little. He controlled his breathing and tried not to flush. He stood and turned, stepping to the left.

"I'd originally assumed you would only come here to see photos of Scorpius growing up." He gestured vaguely toward the photo album spread open on his desk. "Now that you've dropped your little bombshell…."

Harry paused for a moment before he looked Draco in the eye. "Can you forgive me for being so incoherent with desire that I neglected to tell you the most important thing of all?"

Draco could feel his heart expanding so swiftly, so recklessly, that it hurt. He almost looked down to see if the movement were visible. "Now that you are here, Harry, I feel I can forgive you anything. Our lives certainly would have been different if I'd not chosen to Obliviate you though."

"Indeed. For example, I would remember how you taste." Harry took Draco's hand and raised it toward his lips. "Here." He kissed the back of Draco's hand. "Here." He turned Draco's hand over and kissed the center. "Here." He kissed the tendon in the center of Draco's wrist.

Draco's breath became less even.

"Your fingers curl too much." Harry pressed both thumbs into the meat of Draco's palm. "I'd like to see you relax." 

"Harry." The word came out broken, half swallowed. Draco was flushing now and nothing would stop him.

"Yes, Draco?" he continued the massage.

"You… don't tease." He swallowed a word and tried again. "Dance with me?"

Harry cocked his head at Draco and said nothing. Draco waved his wand at a small wireless and a Viennese waltz sweetened the air. Harry smiled and put his arms out. Draco stepped in. Harry led.

The waltz was pleasant enough, but Harry needed more. He waved his wand at the wireless and a Quickstep came on. He gave Draco an aggressive smile. Draco stayed in his arms. 

Harry found himself whipping Draco around the room by the spine, but Draco followed his every step, shadowed his every move. Harry dipped him low and Draco winked. Harry flipped to a station with even faster music and Draco began to sweat, but said nothing. Harry was starting to drip. He unbuttoned the top of his shirt. Draco flashed what Harry hoped was an appreciative glance.

Draco smiled when the announcer came on to name the songs. He pulled away, but only to remove his robes. Underneath he wore a thin white vest tucked neatly into his navy blue trousers. His long, slim feet were bare. Harry kicked off his own shoes.

Draco was lithe and well-formed, as Harry had day-dreamed. He stepped back into Harry's arms, and only after they began another quickstep did Harry realize that this time, Draco was leading the dance. Their hips pressed together for a moment. Only long enough for Harry to feel the suggestion of an erection in Draco's trousers, then they were apart again.

When Draco pulled Harry close for a tango, Harry realized that Draco was now a bit damp, while he was soaked and panting. Broom manufacture wasn't the most athletic of professions, even if he did do a lot of flying. Besides, dancing cheek to cheek wasn't the way to stay cool and calm about Draco's slim body.

He dropped his lips to Draco's neck, but Draco did not seem to notice. He pressed Harry around the room as they whirled and stepped.

Harry decided it was time. He pulled away, holding only on to Draco's left hand. Draco twisted prettily and spiraled back into Harry's arms. Harry ceased dancing and splayed a hand over Draco's belly. "He was here?" Harry asked. Draco nodded, breathing a bit more forcefully than Harry had realized. "My son was here." Harry pulled gently at the fabric, untucking the vest and gaining slow access to bare skin. "I want to be here."

Draco leaned his head back on to Harry's shoulder. He did not let go of Harry's hand, but pressed his arse more intently into Harry's hips.

"You took control the first time, Draco. It's my turn. I want you to know that you didn't manipulate or drink me into your bed tonight, no matter what might have happened twelve years ago. I want to be here. I know where I am, who you are and what we are doing."

"What… are we doing?" Draco whispered.

"I am going to take you to bed, Draco. I am going to take off these clothes and spread you out like dessert. I am going to take my time and make this as memorable as possible. It has to stand in for last time as well, you see." 

Draco turned in the circle of Harry's arms. He looked at the floor while Harry waited. Then he placed one hand over Harry's wildly beating heart.

Harry waited.

Draco said only, "Twelve years." Then he placed Harry's hand over his own pounding chest.

"Draco." Harry couldn't hold off any longer. Everything but lust and tenderness had burned away as they danced. He bent his head down, caught Draco's eye. "Draco." Draco lifted his chin in response and Harry caught his lips with his own.

The white room swirled away into a tornado of nothingness.

Teeth. Lips. Tongue. Breath. Life. It assailed Harry's conscious mind as he pulled Draco in and made love to the other man's mouth. Their erections pressed into each other. "Draco." Harry found Draco's neck and Draco bent backwards like a willow.

"Draco. Draco. I love saying your name. I can't wait any longer to take you to bed. Just tell me how not to get you pregnant accidentally again."

Draco could barely breathe. "Don't… don't come in my mouth."

Harry laughed and caressed Draco's cheek. "Simple enough. Where's your bed?"

And very soon, all was well.

_finis_


End file.
